Tyranny in Blue and Yellow

There's something vaguely sinister about Ikea. I have a hard time defining it, which leads to chuckles from my friends and family when I first tell them, "I think there's something vaguely sinister about Ikea." But I think it has to do with the uniformity with which their stores are laid out and the fact that every last little piece of everything is for sale. You can buy it all, even the fake computers and TVs, I suspect. And there are those little arrows telling you where you should be going. Not where you MUST go, mind you; no, that would lay bare their hidden agenda of world domination for all to see.

The store is far too clever to give up its intentions so readily. Instead, Ikea entices all with its promise of fashionable, cozy modernism for any budget. Are you well compensated? We have a luxurious sofa for you for $600. On the lower end of the pay scale? Here's a futon for $150, a light fixture for $5. And it's all so tidy and kempt. They've even arranged the furnishings for you: they have "apartments" as small as 55 square feet laid out in their stores, fully bedecked in their wide variety of coffee tables, bunk beds and kitchen ranges.

Interestingly, like the ersatz apartments built within the stores, there are almost no windows in the stores themselves, at least on their sales floors. They mimic casinos in that way, further embedding the notion that one isn't in a furniture store so much as an alternate reality, an Ikea world where things are peaceful, harmonious and tastefully decorated. One could easily lose track of time (there is a distinct dearth of clocks in Ikeas as well) and find him- or herself spending an entire afternoon in its cozy confines.

The icing on this conspiratorial cake is Ikea's ability to put a warm, human face on all of this. So insidiously ingenious is their plan that one cannot help but to ignore all of the aforementioned subtle clues to the store's true intentions and embrace the fluffy consumerism promoted inside.

I suspect that there are others out there who, like me, have begun to divine the plot for world domination buried deeply within the smartly-appointed store but who are just as unable as I am to discern enough of the details to rip the mask off this institution and expose its nefarious plan. So, in the interests of all of humanity, I shall continue to make the occasional foray into this Swedish heart of darkness, brave its enticements of moderately-priced modernism, purchase an item or two for closer inspection at home and report, dear readers, on my findings. Wish me good fortune.